


I'll Wait

by orphan_account



Series: Wait. [1]
Category: Death Note, DeathNote, dn
Genre: Asshole!Matt, Barisat!Mello, Barista!Near, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Near and Mello are coworkers at a small coffee shop.I haven't done this before, so I hope it's good. Also I didn't really do any editing or have anyone else look it over. If you see any mistakes, please let me know. Thank you.





	I'll Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TIM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TIM/gifts).



> This is a prompt from a book that I got recently the prompt is "Two Best Friends are Baristas" and I had to include coffee, molehill, insulation, sneakers, inspire, pencil, embroidery, justify, loveless and pane.

I remember the day I met him better than almost anything else. It was a sunny day in early June, and the bitter-sweet scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeated the air inside café I had been working at to put me through college.  
Though the air outside was hotter than it had any right to be, inside it was cool and nice. The Air Conditioner had been running nonstop all morning, to my relief, as I did my job, quietly humming along to the music playing softly over the speakers that were built into the ceiling tiles.  
It couldn't have been any later than ten when he came in. Blond bangs beginning to plaster to his forehead from the sweltering heat outside.  
At first, I merely thought he was just another customer. Just there to grab coffee, or perhaps a pastry from the glass cabinet I was leaning against. Naturally, instead of doing what I should've done, I asked him what he wanted to order. The glare he gave in return only stated that ordering something wasn't what he was there to do. Instead of explaining, he just continued walking until he made his way around the counter. Only then did I notice the company logo along with a name tag placed on his chest. The bright colors of the logo and silver lettering that read "Mello" on the name tag stood out boldly against the plain black material that the uniform shirt was made of.  
As I was wondering to myself how I didn't notice something so obvious, he spoke. His voice wasn't too high or deep, almost a perfect in-between. There was also a slight accent present with each word he said. Russian, from what I could tell.  
I didn't realize what he had said until he snapped his fingers in front of my face, his own reflecting the frustration he must've felt at my ignorance.  
"Did you even hear a word I said, Sheep?" Anger seeped into his voice, making his frustration very clear.  
Tentatively, I shook my head, slightly alarmed at how easy it was to set this man off.  
"Never mind then. I can figure this out myself." His words were laced with venom, clearly spoken with intent to make me feel bad and do what he told me.  
From his repose, I could figure out what he wanted, but I didn't dare interfere. Instead I watched him closely from my position at the counter as he grabbed styrofoam cups and fiddled with the different buttons on the coffee machine. I only interfered with his blond experimentations when he couldn't figure out how to stop the machine and coffee starting spurting onto the floor. The expense of leaving my post to help the newbie was an old lady with an overly embroidered blouse and my new, white sneakers from Walmart.  
After he finally figured out how to make coffee and not get it everywhere, the daily routine was exactly the same. He would work Wednesday and weekends, always coming in exactly five minutes late for his shift. For the most part, he was silent while working, only grumbling when he got a decently sized order or when we ran out of anything. Despite how grumpy he always was, soon we became a well oiled machine. I took orders and got pastries for customers, and he got the coffee. After a couple weeks, he knew what each button on the coffee machine was without even reading the fading labels and how to identify all the pastries just from their placement in the cabinet. The only thing he didn't do well in was working with the actual customers. He got impatient if they took more than five seconds to order, and would snap at them for any questions they asked. Although I completely understood the second part. Most of the questions were stuff like "does the peanut butter cup hot chocolate have peanuts in it?" Or questions about the menu even though everything we had was on it. The worst part was when someone wouldn't even tip when he did manage to be polite to the customer. Despite all this, I wouldn't have wanted another coworker. Even if he was rude, quiet and made a mountain out of every molehill so to say, he was the best choice for his position.  
I also remember the first time we actually had a conversation during work. It was a slow day in mid August, when it happened. I was quietly polishing off the glass counter, looking up at the door every few seconds, hoping for someone to walk in.  
But his voice was so unexpected, it took me a second to realize that he was even talking.  
"Why do you even work here?" His voice was even, and from that alone I knew he wasn't angry at anything for once. In fact, he seemed to be calm which hardly ever happened.  
Slowly, I turned to him, unsure of what he meant by his question. "What do you mean?"  
"What do I mean? I mean why do you work here when you clearly don't like it." His tone had a slight sharpness to it this time, alerting me to his frustration caused by my question.  
"I'm here to get through college. And even if you don't think so, I happen to like working here very much." I kept my voice as quiet as I could and still let him hearing me. I didn't want to be loud enough to bother the few customers that remained in the nearly empty restaurant.  
He raised an eyebrow at my response. He was probably expecting something shorter, or maybe more polite.  
"So why are you here then? There's no way you can say that you like the work."  
I wasn't sure if he would even answer my question and if he did, I doubted that he would go into detail on it.  
"I needed a job, this place was hiring, and I haven't felt like finding something else." His voice didn't have much tone, which lead me to believe he was speaking the truth. That this was his honest answer, even as vague as it was, it still satisfied my curiosity. For the time being at least.  
From that day on, that became part of the routine. Whenever there was a gap lasting more than five minutes between customers, one of us would start a conversation, even if it lasted only a few sentences. I began to wait for the moments when the line of customers would thin out to nonexistence, just so I could learn a little more about my coworker. It would always start with a short simple question like "what's your favorite colour?" Or "where are you from?". Depending on the amount of time we were without a customer, he would ask a second customer, or go into detail about his answer. Even now I still remember when he told me about how black was the ultimate colour and how it could easily represent anyone.  
It started with him asking me what my favorite colour was. I gave what could be said as a boring answer. "White". Sure it was my honest answer then, but now I need to think twice before I answer. Naturally, I asked him what his favorite was. That's how I managed to keep he conversation going, so I did it like always.  
"Black." He stated it simply, as though it didn't make him sound like an "edgy" misunderstood teenager.  
"Really? You're going down that path? I thought you would've seen enough quote unquote emo kids coming in here to know better." My response was meant to be more joking, but I guess I didn't have the right tone, because he took it seriously.  
"I don't mean it like that. I mean it like, black is logically the best of all the colours. It's the darkest, the most mysterious. It's made up of all the other colors but at the same time, it's none of them. It's all the shades of grey but amplified. The only colour it isn't, is white. Where as black is everything but nothing and can be made by all the other colours, white is pure and can only be made by white. It can't be any darker or else it's another colour. Black is free to be black. It's free to be as dark as it wants it's effected by everything but it doesn't show. The exact opposite of white, which if it's ever effected, it shows." He started his answer sounding almost bored, as if he would rather explain anything else, but by the end he was talking excitedly. Hands motioning and adding to every word he says. His eyes gleamed with an almost childish interest as though his logical explanation was the best thing ever, even better than a sweet shop.  
I couldn't help but stare at him, his hands frozen in mid-gesture, eyes still gleaming, and almost triumphant smile twisting his mouth. I was speechless to say the least. Out of all the things I was expecting from this unpredictable, quiet ball of anger, this was the last thing I would think to happen. I would never have even dreamed to think he would dare to show any emotion except annoyance and anger in any public place.  
Finally, I managed to take my eyes off of him and survey the dining area of the café. It was clear his voice was louder than I realized as several the customers were looking over at the counter, clearly in awe of the logic and thought expressed by the usually silent coffee boy. The regulars seemed shocked to even hear something not filled with anger and frustration coming from him, as they had all been snapped at by him at least once before I could take over.  
A minute of near silence later, all eyes turned back to friends and family members and the low, usual chatter started up again. Though everyone else there had seemed to forget the event not long after it had happened, I would never forget it.  
I could never forget all the short conversations and small questions Mello asked me.  
As the weeks went by, every shift seemed to end up having at least one decently long, in depth conversation. And not long after that, I could safely call him a friend. I would wait eagerly through the days for my shifts with Mello. I always wondered what questions he would ask me, or what things we would talk about. I thought of hundreds of questions to ask him if I ever got the chance. Some more straight forward and typical of new friends, others more in depth and personal. The only problem was I still needed to wait for him to start the conversation. Many times I tried to start it myself, but all I would get was grunts and maybe a huffy, forced answer.  
I waited for him to ask. I waited for him to answer. I waited for him.  
Only once did I dare to ask a question first after I learned if he wanted to speak, he would speak.  
That time I did get an answer. I asked him if he wanted to meet up at some point during the week.  
He said yes.  
I still remember being too excited to even study for my biology exam I had the next morning, not that I needed it.  
It was Friday when we met up. We went to a park not too far from the café. We spent the entire afternoon, laying in the grass and asking whatever questions came to mind. I learned that he was in America because he had hoped to keep his mother safe from some accident that happened in the past, and how he wanted a new start. He learned that I was an orphan from England and I was just here for school. I learned that he had started going to college in Russia, but moved to America before he could finish his schooling. I learned that he needed a job because his mum wasn't well enough to work.  
It wasn't until the sun started setting that we decided to get up and go somewhere else. That somewhere else ended up being the Burger King that was only a couple blocks away from the park we were at.  
He spent the entire time at the fast food joint telling terrible jokes and drinking Mello Yello soda, which I actually found quite amusing.  
After we finished eating, I offered for him to come over to my house. I didn't want to excitement of the night to just end like that. But he turned my offer down, stating that he needed to get back home to see his mum. I tried not to let him see my disappointment, but I'm sure he saw through my blank face.  
He pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper and handed it to me.  
"Write down your phone number. I'll text you when I can." He promised. He knew what would make me feel better, so he promised.  
He kept to it.  
Soon we were texting every day. I even dared to respond during classes which resulted in my phone being confiscated more than once.  
We also conversed every shift we had together. He would always ask me questions and tell me how his mum was doing. No matter what, I was always eager to hear from him and couldn't stand the wait for a response or to see him at our shifts together. Even when we disagreed, I couldn't help but wait on the edge of my seat for every last response, whether over text or in person.  
When he finally agreed to go over to my house, it only made things worse. We spent the entire day talking, laughing and during the silent moments doing nothing but starting at the crumbling walls of my apartment, examining spots where the insulation was showing. It went on like that until we both passed out on the sofa after 1:00 AM.  
Though he had left by the time I woke up, I still felt like he was there. The next time I heard from him, he thanked me for the inviting him over and letting him stay the night.  
We went on like that for months. Spending afternoons in the park and at my apartment after work, with him occasionally staying the night.  
Soon he was the only thing that would register in my mind.  
No matter what I did, I would always think about him. His smile, his laugh, his voice, him.  
When at work, I was always conscious of his eyes on my back as I took orders. I was always aware of his voice as he spoke to me.  
I still remember all the questions he asked. He always new I was listening, even if I was scrubbing the panes of glass shielding the pastries from the outside world.  
He was my inspiration. My reason to show up for work, to get through my classes and get my degree. He was even the thing that inspired the long term creative writing assignment I had been putting off.  
I know what I was feeling now, even if I didn't fully understand it. I know I was in love with him.  
I still remember the day I realized it. We were walking through the park, just like most Saturday afternoons. Though we had asked each other nearly everything by that point, we were still shooting questions back and forth.  
"Why does your name tag say 'Mello' when your real name is Mihael?" I asked. It was one of the few times I took the lead in a question.  
He just looked at me and shrugged slightly. "They thought it would be difficult too difficult for people to read properly and if someone mispronounces it, it could sound offensive."  
"Oh..."  
"So why are you called 'Near', Mr. Nate River?" His tone was teasing, but I could tell he really was curious.  
I shrugged back when I responded, just like what he did to me. "They asked if there was something I'd rather have on my name tag, and that was it. It's what people have always called me, so it's what I go by."  
Without even realizing it, we stopped at one of the trees that lined the path.  
I had always been aware that Mello was taller, but now it seemed to be even more noticeable as I looked up at his beautiful and slightly feminine facial features. His blue eyes sparkling down at me, meeting my dull grey ones.  
Time seemed to freeze for me as I looked up at him. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest and heard blood rushing in my ears. Suddenly, the thought popped into my mind. It seemed like it would be the only way to make the uncomfortable beating stop. I leaned up, my hand making its way to the back of his neck, pushing him down to meet me. My lips brushed against his. My eyes closed, as I pressed myself more firmly against him.  
Suddenly I felt a light pressure on my chest. It grew, slowly at first until it was forcing me away from the man I had pressed myself against.  
Mello's eyes were wide. He seemed to be in disbelief about what I just dared to do. For half a second, I thought it would be ok. That he wouldn't be mad.  
Then he spoke to me. No. He shouted. Anger painting his face clearly, words dripping with venom, he screamed at me. Telling me how wrong I was and if I thought he liked me how wrong that is. He shouted about how he would never like me that way, how he only saw me as a friend. Everything about him told me how angry he was. How disappointed.  
I had hoped things would be better then next day. How maybe we could work it out during our shift together.  
Once again, I was wrong.  
The entire time he was silent. He avoided looking at me as much as he could, and when he did it was a loveless glare. One that could only be associated with true hatred. Near the end of our shift, I gathered up all my nerve and turned to him. I wanted to explain, and tell him how sorry I was. I wanted to make sure that he didn't hate me for it. Just as I opened my mouth to start my apology, I felt a hand tapping my shoulder. I turned, ready to take the persons order as soon as I could so I could do what I needed to do.  
The man had shoulder length brown hair, and a pair of tinted goggles covering his eyes. I could distinctly smell cigarette smoke on him, and one was hanging lazily out of his mouth. His eyes were looking far above my head as he scanned the menu.  
"Sir, this is a tobacco free zone. I'm afraid your going to have to put that out."  
He didn't even look down at me when I spoke. He just took it from his mouth, and pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the just cleaned counter, staining the glass with the ash.  
Finally he spoke. "I think I'll have a Hazelnut Latte, and a Caramel Latte." He still hadn't looked at me.  
For once, I was frustrated with a customer. He had stopped me from doing what I needed to do, and didn't even have the decency to look at me.  
"Oh, also for the caramel one, put in some chocolate powder, would you?"  
"Alright. What sizes would you like?"  
"I'd like eight inches, but I'll take the Hazelnut Latte as a Grande, and the caramel one as a Venti. Or if you don't do Starbucks sizes a medium and a large."  
It took me a moment to process what he first said, then it took all my willpower to not smack him for his profanity.  
"Alright. I need a name for that." I spoke the gritted teeth, wanting desperately to hit him.  
"Matt. And make it quick Sheep Boy. I've got things to do."  
I scowled, but wrote the name one the respected cup sizes, and glanced over at Mello, who was smiling. He was looking at me, and smiling. I smiles back, and started getting the orders ready.  
When he saw that I was taking the order myself, he took a few steps closer and grabbed the cups from my hands.  
"I can do it, Sheep. I don't need you fucking this up."  
My eyes widened. Never had he insisted on taking an order for me, but I let him do his thing. My surprise grew as he even took the coffees to the counter himself and gave he order to the guy.  
I didn't understand why he would do that. He must've heard how much of a bitch the man was, but he did it anyways. And what was more, he was smiling again.  
He told him how much the coffee would be, and the guy looked down, also smiling. He handed the money over, acting like he had never been rude to the man who was originally behind the counter.  
After a minute of them talking quietly, both still smiling, Mello looked up at the clock, seeing that his shift was over. He walked out from behind the counter.  
I just watched as Mello grabbed the larger of the two coffees.  
Finally, I found my voice. "Mello, I really want to talk to you."  
He glanced back at me, smile leaving his face.  
"What do you want?"  
"I'm really sorry about yesterday. How about we go to the park again and talk it through, later?" I had hoped that what I said got my message across clearly.  
He didn't answer. He just looked down, as though trying to avoid my eyes. He took half a step closer to the man who had been rude to me.  
After a minute of just standing there, he spoke. "Listen, Nate. I see you as a friend, and nothing more. Even if I did, I wouldn't date you. You don't need to justify your actions to me."  
I felt my heart breaking as he spoke. I knew he didn't like me back that way after his reaction, but I would've at least thought he would've wanted me to explain at least.  
"Why wouldn't you date me?"  
"Because I have a boyfriend already." That sentence had the annoyed, frustrated tone he always had when someone asked him a stupid question.  
Just then did I realize how close Mello was standing to the guy. Just then did I see how the man had an arm wrapped loosely around Mello's waist. Only then did I realize that Mello took one of the coffees the guy had ordered.  
The guy looked down at me, smirking slightly. He pulled Mello even closer as he grabbed his own coffee. "Better luck next time Sheep. You're lucky Mihael here put in a good word for you and said you were a friend of his, otherwise I'd blow your brains out for that."  
I looked back up, trying to keep my gaze as blank as I could to hide how hurt I felt.  
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth. He traded the box for a lighter, and lit the stick of cancer. He took a deep inhale of it, and blew the smoke in my face, before tightening his grip on Mello's waist again, and leading him out of the café.

It's been years since I worked with Mello. After that day, he never showed up for his shift. I tried texting him, but for quite a while I never got a response, until someone named Janice said that she just got a new phone number and that my texts were weirding her out.  
I've still kept an eye on him though. I'm Facebook friends with him, even if he never responds to any of my messages and if I never post. He married his boyfriend. I actually got an invitation to that, but I couldn't go. I couldn't face it. I couldn't face him. I still think of Mello everyday, and I know I'm still in love with him. One day, he will be mine. But until then, I'll just have to wait. Like I waited for him to talk to me. Like I waited for him to tell me that it was ok to talk to him. Like I waited for each text, for each shift, for each visit. I'll just wait again, no matter how long it takes.

 

 

~The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope this was good and that you liked it. I tried really hard and spent a while on it. So if you see any mistakes, please, please, please let me know so I can fix it. Thank you so much.


End file.
